Mirror Firewall (ROUND 2)
Let’s workshop this poem about the fleeting distance a narrator creates from his own harsh reality through judgment of others, only to be confronted by the undeniable reminders of his own condition.
scent of the day: Opus XV (King Blue), by Amouage.—In its best light seen as an attempt to combine incensey-skank with the pink-pepper radiance and the juicy-fruit sweetness of western pop art (candied blackcurrant, candied mandarin orange) and thereby serve as a bridge between niche’s often-dark complexity and designer’s every-thing-is-awesome accessibility, King Blue—despite being praised for its resinous richness and its connection to legendary Amouage releases like Silver Oud and Interlude Man—will read to experienced noses (even ones who have yet to dip into Bortnikoff) as puerile and cheap (challenging not in any good-fecal sense of the term, only in the sense that it stoops so drastically into sheeple synthetics while at the same time violating blue-fragrance norms)—the result being a fragrance, while redeemable only in subtle ways during caffeinated moments of charity (praline-leather dry down), so non-ironically fake smelling (fake, as Ramsey says, for a fake generation) that it has me second-guessing many favorites in my collection that share some of its same DNA of artificial push (my Orto Parisis, my Tiziana Terenzis) and especially has me worried about revisiting my backup-bottled Silver Oud (an Amouage to which it is often seen as a flanker).
Mirror Firewall Renewed by late-winter sun (plus crack) several blocks from your own sidewalk haunt, you mutter more than a flash of othering: “’nother damn hobo”—dream distance, lucid flight, endangered by scuzzy fingers and frayed sleeves swinging in the fringes of sight.
